The hard ground in the barren backyard
grieves the green grass lately gone.
Wide around are leafless trees
and broken brown stems stripped
of the former diadems that crowned them:
their flowers’ ebullient colors.
The days are long past when they were
buzzed by bees inebriate from their nectar.
The sun doesn’t shine
with the same exuberance as it did
when the children played outside
under its summer rays.
The winds blow cold,
set free from blowing breezes
that warm the birth and breath
of all living things.
The songbirds are gone.
They have winged their way south.
All that remains is a slow-motion montage,
a vignette, ready to rise renewed
once spring’s sweet breath returns
and whispers life into it again.
About the Poet
Cynthia Pitman, a former high school Advanced Placement English teacher from Orlando, Florida, has had poetry published by Vita Brevis Press, Right Hand Pointing, Three Line Poetry, Third Wednesday (contest finalist), Leaves of Ink, Amethyst Review, Ekphrastic Review, Postcard Poems and Prose, Adelaide Literary Review, and others. Her first poetry collection, The White Room, is forthcoming.